Ever After

Chapter Thirty-One



There was no moon as I followed Trent down the soft sawdust path of his private gardens. It was silent but for the sighing of the wind in the tender new leaves, and I could smell the cedar the path was made from. Small ferns laced the path, tiny because they'd been above the earth for only a few weeks, but I knew that by the end of the summer they'd be nearly as high as my knees.



"I appreciate you coming out," Trent said, a few steps ahead of me, looking comfortable in his black pants and gray shirt, his tie loose about his neck and no coat on against the slight chill. "I have a clear schedule, but showing up at your church after midnight isn't prudent."



I thought of the news vans and nodded. "It's not like I have anything on my plate," I said, staring up at the dark branches as my steps slowed. No, it had been very quiet the last week. Most days it was just Jenks and me knocking about in the church-Ivy was spending a lot of time with Nina, trying to bring her back from the brink. I'd gotten a lot done in the garden, but I was bored to tears. When Trent had asked me to come over when I'd called to tell him I had the curse to mend his hand ready, I'd jumped at the chance. But I was more than a little curious as to why we hadn't done it in his office or private apartments. Maybe he wanted to make s'mores? I could smell a wood fire somewhere.



"Business still slow?" he asked, holding a dogwood branch heavy with last night's rain out of the way.



"Nonexistent, but Al is keeping me busy." I had to force myself to move forward to duck under the branch, and I didn't know why. It wasn't Trent. He had been professional if somewhat quiet when he'd met me at the kitchen entrance at the underground garage. I'd never even seen the upstairs apartments, having gone immediately to Trent's secondary office on the ground floor, and out into the gardens from there. It was nearing midnight and the public offices were deserted.



Water spotted my shoulder when Trent let the branch go. A flower drifted down, and I kept it, feeling as if it had been a gift. Trent led the way. The lamp in his hand swung, sending beams of light into the wet leaves. I shivered, then stopped dead in my tracks when the path forked. To the right was a narrow nothing, to the left, well-manicured sawdust. Trent continued on down the right path, and I wavered, feeling the need to keep moving.



"Trent," I said, actually two steps down the wrong path. Confusion and nausea rose up, and I stopped, unable to go back. What in hell?



"Oh. Sorry." Motions sharp, Trent came back and took my hand, pulling me back to the smaller path. "There's a ward."



His fingers in mine were warm, and my head came up. The nausea vanished, and I took a deep breath. "To keep people out?" I guessed, feeling funny as he led me up the narrow, crooked path as if I were a reluctant child. My breath came in a quick heave, and panic took me. Almost laughing, Trent gave a quick yank, jerking me forward another step.



I stumbled, gasping as a wave of energy passed over my aura. Wild magic sang in my veins, setting my heart to thumping, and then I was through. Halting, I turned to look over my shoulder. The main house was surprisingly close. Jenks and I had probably been within a stone's throw of the ward when we had burgled Trent's office, and we'd never known.



"The ward only hits you when you try to force your way in," Trent said. "Otherwise, you'd never notice it. At all."



Breathless, I pulled my hand from his. "You made it?" I said, and he turned away.



"My mother did." His pace slower, Trent wove a path through the tall bushes. I could see a little roof up ahead, but little else. "She made the ward, the spelling hut, and pretty much everything in it."



The path opened up, and I stopped beside him as he lifted the lantern high. There in the soft glow of a candle was a small house made of stone and shingled with cedar. Moss grew on the roof, and the door was painted red. It felt abandoned, but the glow of firelight flickered on the inside of the windows, and smoke drifted up from the chimney. Clearly he'd been out here earlier tonight.



"I found it shortly after she died," he said, a faint smile quirking his lips. "Made it into my own place to avoid Jonathan. It's only been recently that I've been using it to spell in. It's remarkably secure. I thought you might like to see it." He lowered the lamp and I followed him to the wide slate stone that served as a threshold.



There was no lock, and Trent simply pushed the door open. "Come on in," he said as he went in before me and set the lamp on the small table beside the door. His back was to me as I hiked my shoulder bag up and sent my gaze over everything to find it neat and tidy. It was one room, the walls covered in shelves holding ley line equipment, books, and pictures in frames. Two comfortable chairs were pulled up before the small fire on a knee-high hearth, and another beside one of the small windows. A cot was half hidden behind a tapestry hanging from the ceiling. All in all, it was a nice getaway, having none of the gadgetry I'd come to associate with Trent, but all his gardener earthiness that showed itself only in his orchid gardens.



"I've not been here in weeks," he said as I relaxed in the smoke-scented warmth. "Except for earlier tonight, of course. It's been quiet since Quen took the girls and Ellasbeth home."



My head came up. "I can't believe you let her have them," I said, feeling his depression. "Even if it is short term. You love those girls! Ellasbeth is such a, ah . . ."



I caught my words as Trent took my coat and hung it on a hook behind the door. "Bitch?" he said, shocking me. "It was either that or invite her to stay here, and I'm not ready for that." His finger twitched, and I bit back my advice to tell her to take a hike. I knew he was going to marry her at some point. Everyone wanted it. Expected it.



"They'll be back in April, and Quen is with them, in the meantime. We're doing monthly exchanges until they get older, and then we can start stretching it out."



He was trying to hide his distress, but I could see right through it as he went to the fading fire and crouched before it. "For now, I get them half the time, Ellasbeth the other." His motions stirring the coals slowed. "I never knew what silence was before. I go to the office, come back to an empty apartment, go back to the office or the stables." He looked up. "I hope you don't mind, but I don't feel so alone out here. Fewer reminders."



I nodded, understanding. It still hurt that Ceri was gone. I could only imagine how quiet his apartments were with no one there but the many reminders of her and the girls. The warmth of the place was seeping into me, and I came forward, liking the old wooden planks and the dusty red woven rug. "Sorry."



Trent set the poker back and dropped a small birch log on the coals. The bark flared and was gone. "Quen will see they're safe and that Ellasbeth doesn't warp them too badly. I've got my spells to work on until then. And business, of course."



Hands in his pockets, he looked over the small hut, and I could see the long days stretching before him. That the girls were gone wasn't exactly what I had been sorry about.



I scuffed the last of the dirt from my feet, not knowing what to do. Trent made a neutral smile and excused himself to go to the small counter set under a dark window. There was a teapot that made me think of Ceri, and I wasn't surprised when Trent's reaching hands hesitated. Shoulders stiffening, he drew it closer and took the lid off and looked inside. "You want some coffee?" he said as I faced the fire to give him some privacy. "I've got some decent instant."



"Only if you want some." I went to the shelves, drawn by a tiny birch bark canoe that I recognized from camp. A trophy with a horse on it was tucked behind it, and a hand-drawn picture of a flower behind that: memories. There was a half-burned birthday candle, a blue-jay feather, and a dusty stalk of wheat tucked into a wide-mouthed handmade pot, again from camp. I frowned, feeling as if I recognized it. Would my fingerprint match the one in the glaze? I wondered, afraid to bring it closer and see.



Uncomfortable, I sent my fingers to trace the spines of the books, a combination of classic literature and world history. The room smelled like magic, the cedar mixing with the scent of cinnamon and ozone. My aura tingled, and I slipped into my second sight long enough to see that the tail end of the line that stretched from his public office to his private one nicked the edge of the little hut. There was a circle there, made of something that glittered black. Beside it was what I had to call a shrine.



Curious, I went to investigate, smiling when I saw a black-and-white photo of his mother tucked beside a lit candle and a small fingerbowl of fragrant ash. On sudden impulse, I set the flower I had found beside the candle. My fingers brushed the candle as I pulled back, and my head jerked up at the wash of warm sparkles that numbed it. Faint in my thoughts, wild magic burbled and laughed, and I curled my fingers under.



"She's beautiful," I said, looking at the photo with my hands behind my back.



"You can pick it up."



The soft sounds of his making coffee were pleasant in the extreme. I tentatively reached for it, finding the ornate silver frame surprisingly heavy. It wasn't sparking wild magic, so I took it to the fire to see it better, dropping my bag on the floor and sitting on the edge of the seat to tilt the photo to the light.



Trent's mother was smiling, squinting at the wind that had taken a wayward strand of her long hair. Behind her was a mountain I didn't recognize. Beside her, looking just as wild and free, was Ellasbeth's mother. There were flowers in their hair, and deviltry in their eyes. I'd guess it was taken before they had come to Cincinnati. I wondered who'd snapped the picture. I found my lips curving up to smile back at them. "You have her face," I said softly, then flushed.



Trent noisily put the lid on the teapot. Bringing it to the fire, he set it on the hearth. There was a kettle in his other hand, moisture beading up on it as he set it on a hook and shoved it over the flames. "It's going to take a while. There is no electricity out here."



"I'm in no hurry." No electricity meant no way in or out when a circle was set. This was more than a getaway; it was a spelling fortress. I suddenly realized Trent's eyes were on the photo, and I stretched to set it back on the small table beside the candle. "Do you bring people here often?"



Trent sat gingerly down in the other chair. His eyes roved over the room, trying to see it as I might be. "Not often, no."



Not ever, maybe, by the looks of it, and I waited for more, grimacing when it became obvious there wasn't any. "Ah, so are you ready for the curse?" I said, and his breathing hesitated a bare instant.



"If you are."



He was annoyingly short-answered tonight, his mood closed and somewhat stiff, but seeing as I was going to curse him, I didn't blame him-even if the curse was going to fix his hand. I'd stirred it myself under Al's eye, and I'd admit that I was more than a little nervous.



Trent slid back into the chair as I lifted my bag onto my lap and dug inside for my scrying mirror. My fingertips tingled as I found it, cramping up as I brought it out and set it on my knees. I had prepped the curse over the course of the week, storing it in Al's private space in the collective. All I would have to do was tap a line, find the collective, and say the magic words to access it. "If this doesn't work . . ." I started, and Trent waved me to silence.



"Rachel, you turned Winona back into a human guise. You can repair my fingers."



I wasn't so confident, and I settled back, then scooted forward, the scrying mirror making my knees ache with the magic taking notice of where I was. Like a slime mold after the sun, it stretched and dove for the tiny sliver of line that ran not five feet away.



"It shouldn't hurt," I added, feeling my fingers slip as I started to sweat. "If it does, just say the words of invocation again, and it will reverse as long as it hasn't sealed yet. Okay?"



He nodded, and his jaw tightened.



I took a breath. Exhaling, I gently reached for a line, my fingers jerking on the glass as it spilled into me with an icy suddenness. The lines had been painfully sharp since I'd dove through all of them, almost as if their clarity had improved a hundredfold. The glass hummed with a myriad of conversations, whispers on the edge of my awareness, drops and swells of power as demons went about their daily grind of fighting boredom. The collective felt warm, peaceful for once, and I felt my eyes slip shut as the heat of the fire mixed with the blanket of spent adrenaline still holding the collective in a muzzy contentment. Oh, if only it could last.



Leaving the puddled warmth behind, I willed a small part of my thoughts into Al's storeroom, shocked when my muscles seemed to lose their focus. A heavy lassitude filled me, and I wondered if Al was asleep. I'd never encountered this when storing or accessing spells in Al's private space before. The way the collective was set up was that private curses were stored in private spaces, and public curses were stored where everyone could access them, be they the stuff to get rid of warts or entire species. Use a public curse, and you took on the smut for its creation-plus whatever smut the maker tacked on to it. It was how some demons tried to get rid of their smut, a dubious attempt at best.



"Here," I said brusquely, feeling dizzy as I held out my hand across the space between us. "I didn't want to risk making a charm tailored to you specifically in case the identifying factor could be used against you, so I need to touch you to focus the curse."



"Does it have to be my right hand?" he asked, and I blinked, trying to focus on him. I felt half drunk-without the mild euphoria.



"It can be your foot, for all that it matters," I said, and he scooted forward, slipping his left hand into mine. It was cold, and I gripped it tighter. "Non sum qualis eram," I said to access the proper curse, one hand in his, the other on the mirror.



I stiffened as the energy spilled up through me, shaking off the smut of the curses around it and shining with a dull gleam in my mind. I pay the cost for this, I thought, wondering how I got to this point: willingly taking the smut for a curse to help Trent. Warm and chattering through my synapses like water around rocks, the curse sped from my mind to my chi, pulling energy along behind it until it dove through my hand and into Trent.



His hand spasmed, clenching hard enough on mine to hurt.



"It's done," I said, and he let go, holding his right hand up to the flickering firelight. My shoulders eased as I saw five fingers there, five perfect fingers. Exhaling, I flopped back into my chair, relieved. I'd used a modified healing curse to set his body back to the DNA sample stored in the collective, a memento of his time as a familiar. It would have all the tweaking that his father had done, not only preserving his life but extending it.



As well as fixing his hand, I thought, pleased that I could do this one thing. It was good to be whole and unscarred.



And then I looked up at him and paled. Oh no.



The pleasure in Trent's expression hesitated as he saw my face. "What?"



My mouth opened as I stared at his ears, but I didn't quite know how to tell him, and my face warmed. His ears were pointed, just like Lucy's and Ray's. Shit, I thought that his dad had fixed them by tinkering with his DNA, not cropping them like a Doberman.



"Um . . ." I started, then jumped when the silver bell hanging suspended above the fireplace made a single beautiful peal of sound.



Trent looked up, startled, and then we both flung ourselves backward from the heavy burst of burnt-amber-tainted air that exploded on the hearth. I gasped as Al popped into the room. Shrinking backward, I pulled my legs up onto the chair. Trent had stood, shoving his chair back nearly three feet as the demon in his crushed green velvet coat all but rolled into the fire, arms and legs askew.



"Al!" I shouted when he came to a grunting halt. Then I cried, "Al!" in a panic. "You're on fire!"



His sleeve flaming, he sat up, blinking from behind his blue-tinted glasses sitting halfway off his face. "Oh, look at that," he slurred as he set a black bottle down to pat at his arm. "I am on fire."



"Get him out of here, Rachel," Trent said in a bad temper as he stood to the side, his expression lost in the shadows. "This is intolerable."



I winced, glancing at Al when he began to giggle at the flames he was making dance on his fingertips. "I'm sorry," I said as I unfolded myself from the chair, really meaning it. "There's no reason for him to show up." I turned to Al. "Al, you need to leave. Now."



But the damage had already been done. And it wasn't like I had a say in the matter.



"Don't want to go . . ." the demon slurred as he took a swig from the bottle and scooted to lean against the rock next to the firebox, his knees pulled up and his head thrown back. "I heard you tap a line, and I came for a visit. It's so quiet. There's no one about, no parties, no one to flay, to torture." He blinked, as if seeing the ceiling for the first time. "Where am I?"



I glanced at Trent now moving quietly through the room, gathering things up and shoving them into drawers. The candle at the shrine was out. "Oh my God," I said, peering closer at Al. "You're drunk!"



Trent shoved a tiny window open in anger, and Al raised his bottle in salute. "No, I'm not," he protested. Then . . . "Wait, I am. Yes. I am drunk. You have no idea how hard it was to get to this mar-r-rvelous state of disconnection." Wavering, he looked past me to an open cupboard. "Oh, look, there's more."



As I watched helplessly, Al staggered upright, stumbling to a rack holding six bottles of white wine I hadn't noticed before. At a loss, I turned back to Trent, immediately seeing his ears.



"This is elf wine!" Al announced loudly, and Trent frowned. "Oh, Rachel, this stuff is toxic. Knock you on your ass. Where are we?"



"Somewhere you shouldn't be," I said, frustrated. Trent had opened up to me, showed me something important and fragile to him, and I go and bring Al into it. That it was an accident didn't mean anything. My gut hurt, and seeing my scrying mirror, I scooped it up and held it up to Trent so he could see himself.



Trent frowned at his red-tinted reflection. Then his eyes went wide and he grabbed the mirror from me, holding it closer, tilting his head to see. In the corner, Al began to laugh uproariously, the bottle of elf wine lighter than when he had taken it. "She gave you your ears back, little elf!" he said, and I cringed. The night had started out so nice, too.



"I'm sorry," I said, miserable. "I thought that your ears were changed at the cellular level, genetically stunted. I didn't know they had been surgically altered."



"Pointy ears. Pointy-eared devil," Al said as Trent held the mirror with one hand and felt his ear with the other. "This is good," he added, squinting at the bottle. "Ha! It's your label."



I couldn't tell what Trent was thinking, and I cringed when he finally met my eyes. "I can change them back . . ."



"No, this is fine." He took a last look, then handed the mirror to me. "Um . . . I like it."



He was lying, and I hunched miserably into myself. From the corner, Al said, "Want me to cut them for you?"



"No!" Trent exclaimed, then shifted on his feet nervously. "This is good," he said as if trying to convince himself. "Ray and Lucy have natural ears. It's fitting that I do, too."



"You sure?"



He looked a little ill, but he was smiling. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you."



One foot cocked behind the other, Al leaned heavily on the counter and belched. "At least your hair will stop falling into your eyes with those huge wings of yours."



I stiffened. "They are not huge," I said crossly. "Trent, don't listen to him. They're just right. Seriously, I can fix them," I said, reaching to touch them.



Trent's hand on my wrist stopped me. "I like them," he said, and I froze. Letting go, he retreated to his chair, sitting down and unlacing his dress shoe.



"What are you doing now?" Al questioned, listing heavily as he tucked another one of those bottles under his arm and staggered for the cot half hidden behind a curtain. "Seeing if your circumcision is gone? It is."



My expression went blank, and Trent hesitated, a silk sock in his hand as he felt the underside of his big toe. He looked at me, and I put a hand to my mouth, face flaming. "Oh. My. God. Trent. I'm sorry." Crap on toast, could I screw this up any more?



"Um," Trent said, clearly at a loss.



"Call me tomorrow," Al said seriously, pointing at him with a bottle as he reclined on the cot. "I've got a curse that will take care of that."



"Ah, I had a scar on my big toe," Trent said, his thoughts clearly scattered. "It rubbed sometimes." He put his sock back on, the firelight making the creases in his forehead obvious.



"Unless you like the snake in a turtleneck look," Al said, and I hung my head and massaged my temples. "Ceri did. But she was earthy in her desires. Delightful little animal she was."



Al went suddenly still, his breath rattling as if he was in pain. Ceri. Suddenly I understood. That was why he was drunk. But it didn't excuse Al's presence. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, mortified. "I didn't think-"



"She called it my purse of delight," Al was saying to the ceiling, flopped back on the cot until only his legs showed beyond the curtain, one foot on the cot, the other draped down onto the floor. A little sob came from him. "I should have freed her. I should have freed her . . ."



Trent had turned away, his steps long as he strode to the wine rack. "Rachel, have you tried my family label?" he asked, almost frantic as he searched for a corkscrew. "It's fairly palatable for having been grown at this latitude. My father shoved a few more genes into a species or two for better sugar production." Hands shaking, he poured white wine into a glass, downing it in one go. If I didn't know him better, I would say he was babbling.



This was going really well, and I glumly sat back down on the raised hearth, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. The kettle had begun to steam, and I pushed it off the fire. I didn't feel like coffee, and by the looks of it, neither did Trent. From behind the curtain, Al was either singing or crying. I couldn't tell. Asking him to jump out probably wasn't a good idea.



The clink of glasses brought my head up, and I wasn't surprised when Trent gingerly sat next to me, setting the glasses on the hearth between us and filling them both. "He misses Ceri," I said softly, to which Trent nodded, his own eyes filled with a private heartache.



"Miss that little bitch?" Al said, the curtain fluttering as he tried to get up. Arm waving, he managed it, his eyes haunted. His next words were lost when he saw the twin glasses, one of which Trent was handing to me. His heartache deepened, and he held his bottle high. "Yes, a toast to Ceri." His bottle sloshed as he shook it. "You were a most exceptional familiar." His arm dropped, and for a moment, there was silence. "I should have freed you, Ceridwen. Perhaps you would have sung to me again if I had."



I thought of Al's blue butterflies, and I set my drink down untasted. The last thing I needed was to add a headache to this. "I'm sorry, Al," I said, my eyes welling up.



"She was a familiar, nothing more," he slurred, swinging the bottle. "Why should I care?" But it was clear he did. "Miss her? Ha!" he cried. "That elf woman was useless! Hardly able to warm my coffee in the morning. Pierce did a better job of keeping to my schedule. I wouldn't take her back even if I could get that damned resurrection curse to work." His head drooped, and I hoped he would pass out soon. "She was forever waking me up in the morning, crashing the cupboard doors. The bitch."



Beside me, Trent seemed to start. "She did that to me as well, every time I tried to sleep in on the weekends. Then she'd smile at me as if she didn't know she'd woken me."



"Crashing about," Al said, gesturing with the bottle. "Making more noise than a box of squirrels. She did it on purpose, I tell you. On purpose!"



Trent shook his head as we watched Al begin to become unconscious. "The woman could stomp like an elephant," Trent said softly, leaning to whisper in my ear and make me shiver. "Quen threatened to smack her."



"Yes, thrash her," Al said, slumping back against the wall. "But she always had my coffee and toast to distract me." His expression became serious. "You cannot thrash the person who makes you coffee. It's a rule somewhere." Blinking, Al slumped against the wall, his hair pushing up behind him. "It was a sad day when she stopped singing. You can't keep a caged bird. No matter how beautiful she is. Maybe if I had freed her. But she would have left me. This is hell, you know? My rooms are so quiet."



I shifted on the raised hearth to build the fire up. I had a feeling we might be here for a while, and this was the only light source besides Trent's lantern in the window.



Trent took a sip of his wine, a brief flash of worry crossing him. "Mine, too," Trent barely breathed, his sadness obvious.



Al jerked forward in a sudden movement, and Trent started. "That is intolerable!" Al said, his feet flat on the floor and gesturing with his bottle before taking another gulp. "You must put yourself into the collective immediately so that we may converse!"



Poker in hand, I half turned, shocked. Trent, too, looked uneasy. "Ah, no. No, thank you."



Head violently shaking back and forth, Al scooted forward on the cot. "Nonsense! We already have the wine. Rachel, fetch my yew stylus. It will take a moment."



My head came up at the slippery pull on the ley line, and Al frowned as things started popping into reality and falling to the floor. "I need to tell you the circumcision curse if nothing else," he slurred, blinking at the small vial of camphor that appeared in his fingers.



"Al." I jumped at the dull crack of an empty scrying mirror hitting the ground inches from my foot, then ducked when the demon threw a bag of sand from him in disgust. "Al!" I shouted. "Knock it off! He doesn't want to be in the collective!"



"I'm flattered," Trent said with a false calm, the fire flicking eerily behind him, "but I don't think the rest will appreciate it. Would you like another bottle of wine?"



I wondered if he was trying to get him drunk enough to pass out until the sun rose, seeing as Al showed no sign of leaving. Sure enough, his mouth on the bottle, Al nodded. "You helped kill Ku'Sox," he said when he came up for air. "You don't think they remember that? You can handle being in the collective." He reached eagerly for the bottle Trent was extending.



"I'm not worried about handling it. I think they wouldn't approve," Trent said.



"Fiddlesticks," Al said, then cleared his throat. "A-dap-erire . . ." he intoned carefully, and I checked to see that my zipper was up when the cork flew out of the bottle. He might be drunk, but he still had control, and it was right where it belonged. "Elves used to be part of the collective," Al said as he winced at the first harsh swallow. "Just because there haven't been any for the last five thousand years doesn't mean it can't be done. You can access the old curses then. Protect yourself. You're going to need it. The old ways are ending. Embrace the new. Elves and demons living together." He blinked. "Oh God. We're all going to die."



Standing beside the cot, Trent took the empty bottle from Al. "No. Thank you, but no."



"Here." Al reached out for the cracked scrying mirror, and I handed it to him, wishing he would go to sleep. "Draw the figures, elf man. Draw it. Pick a name. We can use your marvelous wine. Ceri, be useful and go fetch some salt."



My heart clenched, but kneeling beside the fire as I was, I didn't question why he'd called me that. "Go to sleep, Al," I said, my own sorrow rising.



"You want to be prince of the elves or not?" Al said, wavering where he sat. "Royalty always conversed with demons before they were wed. It's tradition. It's how I tricked Ceri into loving me. You're not married, are you? On the side, perhaps? In Montana?"



Trent grimaced. "I need to think up a good name. I promise when I get a good name that no one can think of, I will. Why don't you rest for a minute?"



Al delicately belched, and sighing heavily, he leaned back into the shadows until his black eyes glowed from the dark. "Capital idea. Good idea. Clever, clever elf. We will wait. You pick out a name, then call me."



The fire snapped, and then from the cot came a long, rattling snore. Trent cautiously tried to take the bottle from Al, giving up when it began to glow. Leaving it in Al's grip, he turned to me and shrugged. "I think he's out."



"I am so sorry." Embarrassed, I got up from the fire and began to collect the stuff that Al had popped in from his kitchen. "I had no idea he'd feel the curse, much less come and see what I was doing."



Trent handed me the bag of sand. "He probably has never dealt with grief," he said, and I set it with the rest.



"Too much of it, rather. He was married once. Only the demons who knew how to love survived the making of the ever-after."



Shocked, Trent looked from me to Al and back again. "I didn't know that."



A long snore came from behind the curtain, and a soft mumble. Trent sat down in his chair, clearly reluctant to leave Al here alone. "Do you think he can resurrect Ceri? I've tried."



My chest hurt, and I sat in the chair next to him where we could both watch the fire and Al both. "No. I've tried several times, too. Pierce as well. They've moved on. I'm happy for them, but it hurts." I hadn't been able to summon my father or Kisten, either.



Trent was rubbing his new pinkie with his thumb in introspection. "Quen will be hurting for a long time. That's why I insisted he go with the girls. And as a buffer for Ellasbeth."



Hearing more in that statement than he was saying, I turned to him. "How about you?"



"Me?" He looked at the bottle in Al's grip, then topped off his glass with the bottle on the hearth between us. "I'm not the one Ceri loved," he said, but I could hear his regret. I waved off his offer to refill my untouched glass, and when I remained silent, he added, "I liked her, but I didn't love her. She was . . . too proud to love me. Distant."



"And you need someone more earthy," I said, only half kidding.



Al snorted. There was a clunk, and the wine bottle rolled out from behind the curtain. It sloshed to a halt at Trent's foot, and he reached for it. "A little spontaneity would be nice," he said, touching my foot by accident when he set Al's bottle next to ours. "I already miss her and her elegant demands and flashing indignity. You couldn't tell the woman no."



"Not that . . ." Al mumbled in his sleep. "He's going to need that later . . ."



"I'm angry at her unnecessary death. It hurts seeing Quen grieve and know it's partially my fault," Trent added, his jaw tight and his gaze unfocused. The scent of cinnamon was rising, mixing with the scent of burnt amber and woodsmoke. It almost made the burnt amber smell nice. "I'm sorry for this," Trent said softly. "I'm sorry for everything."



This wasn't like Trent at all, but I wasn't surprised to see it. I was upset about Ceri and Pierce, but I hadn't been planning on a life with either of them as Trent had with Ceri-in some disjointed, separate fashion. Alone. He had always planned on being alone, but never this apart. Even with Ellasbeth, he would be alone. I felt bad for him. It wasn't fair. None of it.



"It wasn't your fault," I said, shifting to look at him. There wasn't much space between us, but it seemed uncrossable.



"Maybe someday I'll believe you," he said, his brow furrowed in the firelight. "Rachel, I asked you here tonight for more than getting my fingers back."



Panic slid through me. "What?"



He grimaced, clearly annoyed that Al was snoring in the corner. "We could've done this anywhere, but I wanted you to see me, to see this," he said, gesturing at the room. "I wanted you to know where I came from, what I am under the choices I make."



My heart pounded. "What did you do?" I asked, terrified, almost.



Exhaling, he looked at his watch, the crystal catching the light to make time vanish. Then he scared me even more when he drank his glass dry and filled it again. "I made a big mistake by not telling you why I thought the slavers were the better choice."



"I know," I interrupted, and his brow furrowed.



"By the Goddess, will you shut up?" he said, and from behind the curtain, Al mumbled something. A little rocking horse with wings popped into existence, crashing into the ceiling before falling to the floor to quiver and go still.



"Listen to me," he said, and I swallowed my words. "The Rosewood babies are going to start dying next week," he said, and my breath caught. "If nothing changes, by this time next month, you and Lee will again be the only survivors of the Rosewood syndrome."



"But you fixed them!" I said, appalled.



"Yes and no," Trent said after he topped his glass off again. "I had to fix their genome to ensure Ku'Sox would hold to his end of the bargain and not harm Lucy, but I worked in a small error that wouldn't express itself until it was replicated sufficiently. I couldn't risk that he would get his way if he killed me."



Horrified, I stared at him. He met my gaze levelly. "You killed them. The babies," I whispered, and he shook his head.



"Not yet."



"What do you mean, 'not yet'?" Feeling betrayed, I stood. "Trent, they are all someone's child!" I exclaimed, and Al snorted in his sleep, mumbling.



Trent looked up, agitated. "I mean, not yet. Rachel, the world isn't ready for them."



I cocked my hip, the fire warm behind me. "When is the world ever ready for change, Trent? When?"



Setting his glass down, Trent eyed me, bitter resignation behind his frustration. "What will happen if they live? HAPA knows they exist. The only reason you survived was because you can defend yourself. You want me to give the children to the demons to raise?"



He stood, and I dropped back as he began to pace. "Or perhaps you want me to hide them and their families? I could do it. But you know the demons will find them, and one by one, a demon wanting to see the sun and escape the ever-after will either steal them outright or take over their bodies." Eyes flashing, he pointed at me, his hand wrapped around a wineglass. "I will not allow a parent to love a child who is murdering his pets and performing ghastly magic, not wanting to believe that their child died five years ago and they are raising a five-thousand-year-old sadistic demon until their child's neural pathways are developed enough to work the lines. They are not meant to be." Frustrated, he turned to the window, taking an angry drink, the firelight flickering on him.



From the cot, not a sound escaped, but I didn't care if Al was listening. "But they are here," I said softly, grasping his arm so he would look at me. "Trent. They are."



Trent shook his head even as he met my eyes. "I thought you might say that. If it was up to me, I'd choose the hard path with the easy ending, not the easy path with the hard end."



I drew back. "What do you mean, it's not up to you?"



Taking a last drink, Trent set his empty glass on the windowsill. Exhaling, he scrubbed his face with a hand, hesitating to look at his five perfect fingers. "What would you choose?"



The fervent emotion in his gaze as his eyes met mine scared me. "Me?"



"I want you to decide," he said, looking a little unsteady. "Not because it impacts your species, but because I want you there with me."



My heart pounded. I didn't know what he meant. He wanted me there with him?



Stumbling slightly, he went to sit on the raised hearth, snagging a new bottle on the way. "If you make the decision, you have to be there to help me with the fallout," he said, working the corkscrew with a professional flair. "Either they die naturally, or I continue the cure and the twenty-year battle to hide them until they can defend themselves."



The cork came out with a pop, and he looked at his glass, halfway across the room on the sill.



Shocked, I stared at him. He wanted me to decide? He wanted me . . . to make a decision that he would have to live by?



Giving up, he drank right from the bottle. "I don't want to be alone anymore, Rachel," he said. "And if you make the choice, you have to help me see it through."



"I want them to live," I said softly, and he slumped, his disgust obvious when his bottle clinked against the floor. "What, you asked my opinion, and that's it. You're not going back now that it wasn't anything you wanted to hear."



"No." Trent eyed me sourly. "It would be easier the other way."



Smirking, I crossed the room and sat down beside him. Taking the bottle he handed me, I poured a swallow in my glass. "If it was easy-"



"Everyone would do it," he finished, clinking his bottle to my glass and downing a swig.



"What about Ellasbeth?" I said, my expansive mood hesitating.



Trent didn't look at me. "What about her?"



I thought of the distasteful woman, on a plane to the West Coast right now, but she'd be back, worming her way into elven politics. "Aren't you supposed to be getting married to her?"



Drawing away, he looked sideways at me. The fire was warm on our backs, and his focus was starting to go distant. "This is a business arrangement. Nothing more."



"Well, that's what I thought," I said quickly, and from behind the curtain, Al started to snore. "But she doesn't like me."



"So?"



I thought about that for a moment. "You are drunk," I said as he tried to get the bottle to balance on the rim of its base.



His eyes came to mine. "I am not," he said, and I caught it as it began to tip. "But I will be before the night ends."



I took another sip, actually tasting it this time. I'd have a migraine in about an hour, but I didn't care. "You know, the last time we shared a bottle, you wiped the top off," Trent said.



"Red pop?" I guessed, smiling at a memory, and he nodded.



"You remember. Are the rings gone?"



I swung the bottle between my knees, and my gaze slid to Al snoring behind the curtain. "Al and I destroyed them," I said. "Melted them so they couldn't be reinvoked. You have a problem with that?"



Trent shook his head and reached for the bottle. "No. It was nice being able to reach your thoughts, though. You have nice thoughts."



A smile curved my lips up, and I leaned away so I could see him better. "You are drunk."



"I am not drunk." He shifted closer, and I didn't mind. "I'm bored out of my mind."



I took another sip. "This is good," I said, and he acknowledged it gracefully. "I know what you mean about the quiet," I went on. "Jenks's kids are scattering. He'll be down to six kids by fall. Ivy is spending most of her time with Nina. I'm starting to think about finding a new apartment somewhere with Jenks."



"Really?"



I shrugged and passed the bottle to him. "I don't know. I like it at the church, but things have changed. If I wasn't there, Ivy might ask Nina to move in. One vampire in the church is okay, two is asking for trouble. Even for a demon."



Trent set the bottle aside, almost out of his reach. "You don't think you could handle it?"



Thinking about what Cormel had said, I shrugged. "Oh, sure, but people talk."



"They do, don't they," Trent said around a sigh, and my thoughts turned to Ellasbeth. Seriously? He could do better than that. "Nick was too scruffy for you, even when he wasn't a demon toady," he said then, surprising me. "Marshal didn't have enough chutzpah to keep up with the elegance you're capable of. Pierce was a first-generation model in a six-g world-novel, but really how far would you get before the software crashed the system? Kisten . . ." Trent's fingers shifted in agitation. "Kisten was an interesting choice."



The reminder of Pierce hurt, but it felt good to think of him and smile. "You're critiquing my ex-boyfriends?"



He made a small noise of agreement. "I like people. Most of the time I can figure them out. You don't make any sense. What are you looking for, Rachel?"



Drawing my knees up, I rocked back and forth before the fire. "I don't know. Someone smart, powerful, who doesn't take crap from anyone. Who are you looking for?"



Trent raised a hand in protest, scooting an inch or two from me. "No, no, no. I'm not going to play this game."



"Hey, you started it. Give. Just pretend we're in camp."



"Someone funny, capable, sexy."



To balance out his strict life. "I didn't bring looks into it. How like a man."



Trent chuckled. "This is my list, not yours. Someone who won't see lovers in the shadows when I'm late for an appointment. Someone who can break a schedule and a nail and not worry about it, but still look good in a dress and not be late for everything."



I looked across the room, seeing nothing. "I want someone who will let me do my job without talking me out of it. Maybe give me a gun for my birthday once in a while."



"Someone not afraid of the money, the press," Trent said. "Someone who won't get caught in the trap that money makes."



"Someone who can do his own magic so he could survive the mess of my life," I finished, getting depressed.



"You live in a church, I live in a prison." Trent became silent.



"It would never work between us," I said, thinking we had strayed onto dangerous ground.



From the cot, Al snorted in his sleep, mumbled about pie, and went silent.



"You're great to work with, Rachel, but we have nothing in common."



Reassured, I let go of my knees and stretched them out, palms on the warm hearth beside me. "That's what I'm saying. You live in a big house, I live in a church." And yet I am sitting in his little playhouse drinking wine.



"We don't know any of the same people."



I reached across him for the wine, stretching as I thought of the mayor, the demons, Rynn Cormel. "We don't go in the same circles at all," I said as I leaned back and took a swallow. But I had fit in at the casino boat and his parties.



"People would talk," he said softly, and I set the empty bottle down. The firelight had turned his hair as red as mine. "Which is a shame. I like working closely with you. God, why is it so hard to tell you that? I compliment people all the time on their work ethics. Rachel, I like working with you. You're fast and inventive, and not always looking for direction."



This was going somewhere I wasn't sure I liked. "Trent," I started, glancing at the curtain when Al choked on his own spit and then began to snore again.



"No, let me finish," he said, a hand going firmly down on the stone between us. "Do you know how tiring it gets? 'Mr. Kalamack, should we do this, or that? Have you weighed all the factors, Mr. Kalamack?' Even Quen hesitates, and it drives me batty."



"Sorry."



"You, on the other hand, just go and do what you think needs to be done. If I can't keep up, you don't care. I like that. I'm glad you're going to help me with the Rosewood demons."



"Yeah," I said, wondering if he had any more of that wine stashed somewhere. "That's what you say now, but wait until they start playing with the ley lines."



"My God, you have beautiful hair in the firelight," he said softly, and I blinked. "It's like your thoughts, all cinnamon and wild untamed. I've always liked your hair."



I froze when he reached out and touched it, my breath slipping from me when his fingers grazed my neck. Slowly I reached up and took his hand, bringing it down. "Okay, we need to get you inside, Mr. Kalamack," I said, thinking that he had had way too much to be comfortable saying what he was, doing what he was. "Come on, stand up. I'll stay here with Al so he doesn't steal the picture of your mom."



I stood, still holding his hand and gently pulling him up with me. A part of me wanted this, but the smarter, wiser part knew it was a mistake.



"I am not drunk," Trent said firmly, standing before me without a waver to his stance. "I don't need to be drunk to say you have nice hair."



A flutter lifted through me, and I shoved it away.



"And I do not want to go back to my apartments," he said. "I want to go for coffee. Al isn't going to wake up." His eyes were on mine, and my heart pounded when he let them drop to my lips. "I am not drunk."



"I wouldn't care if you were."



Trent's arms were around me, and they felt right. "No, I want you to know that I do not need to be drunk to kiss you."



"Um . . ." I started, heart pounding more when he leaned in, slowly, hesitantly, stopping just shy of my lips. All I had to do was lift my chin. Breath held, I did.



With a gentle pressure, our lips met. His hands slipped more firmly about me, and I held myself back, not afraid, but wanting to feel everything slowly as I leaned in, tasting the wine on him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing into mine, breathing in our scents that were mingling and changing with the warmth. My hands rose to find his hair, and I relaxed into him as the silky strands brushed through my fingers. I wanted more, and I leaned into him as our lips moved against each other.



I pushed him off balance, and he took a step back, our lips parting even as he pulled me to him closer yet as I stumbled forward into him. The rush of the kiss pounded through me, and I stared at him, breathless, seeing in his eyes that he was not drunk. He was stone-cold sober, and it scared me. "Why did you do that?" I whispered.



He half smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't know," he said, his grip on me becoming more sure. "But I'm going to do it again."



Oh God, yes, I thought, and then he pulled me into him. The tingle of the nearby line danced at the edge of my awareness, and as his hands hinted at rising up to find my breasts, I loosened my hold on the energy in my chi to send a dart of energy balancing between us, hinting at more.



Trent's lips on mine hesitated, then became more demanding. Passion ran through me. Heart pounding, I jerked as his back found the wall. It was intoxicating, and realizing I wanted to reach behind his waistband, I stopped.



Breathless, I backed up from him. The warmth from his lips slowly cooled. My lungs heaved, and I stared at him, not as shocked as I thought I would be. "This isn't going to work," I said, scared. "You're going to get married to Ellasbeth and be what everyone needs you to be."



He reached out and slowly pulled me to him. Tense, I stood as he ran a hand through my hair. My eyes closing, I tilted my head to feel his fingers on my face. Reaching up, I took his hand in mine, leaving a kiss in his palm as I curved his fingers around it and lowered his hand between us.



"Yes, I know," he said, coming closer until our hands pressed between both of us, and I trembled as he kissed my cheek. My passion pulled to the breaking point, I opened my eyes as I felt him draw away. I wanted this, but I knew better.



"You want to go for a coffee?" he said, shocking me. "The-men-who-don't-belong might be there, or a demon catching a cup of caffeine. I hear they will give a lot for a good cup of Joe. Al isn't going to wake up until long after sunrise."



Slowly my pounding heart began to ease. "Or maybe we can just talk."



Trent smiled. "We can try," he said, taking up the lantern and opening the door.



Cool night air spilled in, but it did nothing to dampen the memory of his hands on me, touching my skin, bringing tingles to life, bringing me to life.



"What are the chances that nothing is going to happen?" he said as I followed him onto the slate threshold and passed it. "You attract trouble, Rachel Morgan."



Looking at him standing beside me in the darkness, I had to agree.